Citrus Sinensis
by MajorBachman
Summary: When Laura Pazzi finds Rinaldo's letter after his death, her life - up to then limited to Pazzi's boundaries - changes. But for better of worse?
1. Chapter 1

_Some time ago, seeing something orange suddenly reminded me of Laura Pazzi. And the thought struck me: are there any fanfics on Laura? I had not seen any up to then. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I found only one when I started searching. Yet, this side character has always had my attention - and not (just) because of Francesca Neri. With that, I decided to give a fanfic on Laura a try._

_It would be very rude not to thank two persons here:  
Demeter, for her opinion on Laura - you helped me getting a clear picture of this woman;_  
_Duffie, for you opinion on Laura, for your comments while writing the storyline, for the proofreading done and ahead._  
_Thank you._

_With my previous fanfic ('Anniba!'), I achieved one chapter a week. This time - please forgive me - I planned on posting less frequent. But I hope you'll find this fanfic's chapters worth waiting for. Okay, here we go...  
_

* * *

**Chapter 1**

It took her some time to find the key to the door, it had chosen a most inconvenient time to hide itself from her. She wanted to get inside desperately, the _Directtore_ of the Questura was still at her side and he would not leave. She just hoped he wasn't thinking she would invite him in. Well, most definitely not. Not now. Not ever.

Her hand felt like a twig in a storm. It took considerable effort to keep it steady so she could insert the key in the lock. Once it was in, she turned it at once, opened the door slightly and looked up at the man.

"Thank you for accompanying me home, _Direttore_, it was very considerate of you," she said, trying to sound as thankful and sincere as possible. She lowered her eyes and hoped he would understand and leave her.

"Are you okay? It has been a rough day. Can I help you with something?"

Apparently not, she thought.

"It has been difficult. And tiresome. But I'm fine. I think I need some rest."

She looked up again, her beautiful black dress rustled.

The man grunted shortly to affirm her words. Laura thought he probably wasn't even aware of the contrary message his posture was proclaiming. Men. All the same. And you really have to tell them what you want them to do.

.

The moment she had shut the door behind her, a sigh escaped her. It was the first outward sign of her discomfort since she had left her house that morning to attend the media-ridden funeral of her late husband Rinaldo. How she would have liked to tell them all to go to hell and stay at home. But it had not been an option.

.

Rinaldo Pazzi had been buried with all possible honor for a Questura Chief Investigator. His horrible murder while he was investigating the disappearance of the longtime curator of the Palazzo Capponi, the predecessor of Dr. Fell; the single Questura computer query to the Lecter VICAP file at Quantico; the disappearance of Dr. Fell and his unmasking as Dr. Lecter from the fingerprints, it all led the media to believe Rinaldo Pazzi, whom they believed had planted evidence in Tocca's house to have him convinced as _Il Mostro_, had been working in secret to capture Dr. Lecter, serial killer and cannibal at large, to reclaim his lost honor. The media had catapulted him into martyrdom.

Laura smiled strangely at this thought, while she scowled at the thought of that Panar Leopard, Dr. Lecter.

.

The tabloid press got their money's worth, the Questura had made sure of that.

The whole Duomo was filled with Rinaldo Pazzi's family, colleagues, superiors; quite a few local hot shots were present, as well as people whose names were probably in one or more files in Rinaldo's file cabinets at the office; and finally and of course, journalists. Outside, mobile television studios were rigged and ready to broadcast the ceremony live on local television. A summary would be shown on the national evening news.

The first entrance antiphon of the Roman Missal from 1970 was sung, making it a true Requiem Mass, as the priest entered the Duomo where the bier with Rinaldo's body awaited. Laura wept. The clicking of the flashless camera's counterpointed the clicking of the priest's heels on the marble floor.

The coffin was open, to some people's surpise. It showed the expertise of the funeral undertakers, they had done a wonderful job with the abdomen and neck. Photos with the open coffin on the foreground and weeping Laura in the background would cover the front page of many morning newspapers the next day, Dr. Lecter's photo from his Brazilian passport next to it.

After the Mass came the 'Non intres in judicium cum servo tuo' prayer and the responsory 'Libera me Domine' from the choir. Laura, again, wiped away a tear. The 'Kyrie Eleison' and 'Our Father' followed. The celebrant walked around the coffin, sprinkled it with holy water and incensed it then. Then, finally, the prayer of absolution.

At that point, six of Rinaldo's colleagues came forward and carried the coffin out of the Duomo while the choir sung the 'In paradisum'. The clicking of the camera's and of heels was the coda of the service.

The honor bestowed on contemporary Rinaldo Pazzi with this ceremony in the Duomo was what Francesco de Pazzi had hoped for when he stabbed Giuliano de Medici in 1478 in that same building.

.

The authorities had deemed the ceremony at the graveyard of greater risk for incidents. The number of people and journalists allowed was about half of those present at the Duomo. The complete Pazzi family was there, but some of his colleagues went home after the Mass, as did some of his superiors. The director of the Questura was even more present at widow Pazzi's side now.

Laura was thinking about how long, or better said, how short they had been married. They had only done a handful of the things she had wanted to do, only a handful of everything. He had been very busy on the _Il Mostro_ case when she had married him, it had taken a lot of his time, leaving her to take care of the house and such. The two years in America had been bliss. She remembered the things he had bought her. Always buying wonderful things for her, and she liked him for it. It seemed to be his way of showing what he felt for her, it was what she had thought he would do for her. Now, no more expensive presents.

And finally, after the Lord's Prayer and blessing, Rinaldo's coffin was lowered by hand; the six colleagues slowly slacking the ropes. Laura rose, walked towards the grave, took a handful of earth and threw it on his coffin. She was glad her face was hidden behind her veil.

.

Once inside her house, Laura walked over to the windows and closed the lilac blinds. Walking past the table, she dropped the keys on it; when she reached the wall switches, she turned on the ceiling fan. Her cat walked in from the adjourning room. It settled itself on the couch. Laura did not seem to notice it.

She moved to the middle of the room and started to undress. She wanted to get rid of that awful, lying mourning dress. It took her more time than she wanted with her shaking hands. Careful not to tear the delicate fabric, not to ruin the designer dress. It slid down to the floor and she stepped out of it, not looking down so she wouldn't see the dress. It was lying on the stone floor like a shed snakeskin. A mourning dress, but Laura was grieving, not mourning.

.

The Questura knew better than to believe Rinaldo's integrity as the media had thought and told, yet it was better to let them tell their story and have the public believe the Questura was a solid institution, than to have them think Rinaldo was yet another example of corruption and corrosion of the bastion.

Laura knew. The director had visited her the day after Dr. Fell had been unmasked as Dr. Lecter. He told her the story the media had revealed, thinking she would believe it, naive as men can be. But she knew Rinaldo better than they did, and knew he would not have killed himself. The proverbial Sword of Damocles had fallen; he had suffered humiliation - and she with him - but he yielded and did not break. He had not resigned, nor killed himself.

But there was more to it. _She had found Rinaldo's letter_. She knew all about the true intentions of Rinaldo Pazzi, when he was chasing Dr. Fell in secret. Rinaldo had probably been even more corrupt than the Questura suspected.

It would have made her life really miserable if that secret went public. She acted accordingly and decided to play along, and don the role of mourning widow. She did it with verve, and even liked receiving the adventitious attention.

* * *

_Panar Leopard: A man-eating leopard, said to have eaten over 400 people, after an injury by a poacher mad__e it unable to hunt normal prey._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

That night, sleep did not put its hand over Laura's eyes, but she lay awake for hours, tossing and turning in the warm and sultry bed. It wasn't October that made her bed uncomfortable with heat, or the quilt, or her nightshirt. It was her own body that warmed it all, her own body would not enter the land of dreams but registered relentlessly the accumulating warmth. One of her legs worked itself free from under the suffocating quilt and found cool air. Both her arms were stretched out above her head, next to the pillow, also groping for cool air. But neither brought her the relief and rest she hungered for.

She had watched the minutes and hours crawl by as her eyes met the alarm-clock's merciless arms every now and then. Each time, her mind calculated how many minutes had passed since she had looked last. She just could not stop thinking. A multitude of thoughts swarmed in her head, like bees in a hive, always busy and going to and fro and the only way to calm them is the smoke of the bee-keeper, but that misty veil of sleep simply would not come now.

With a sudden rash movement, Laura got up and threw her quilt and pillow on the floor. Eyes wide open, she pulled the mattress off the bed and put it on the floor. Then she rearranged the sheet and pillow on it. Resolutely, she slid back under the quilt. This time, sleep descended upon her, creeping and unnoticed; not bringing rest but plaguing her with a frightful dream.

.

_Cousin Palmira is talking to Mamma and Papà, Laura is holding her father's hand. It's a strong hand. She remembers the last time he had used it on her, when she had broken one of the plates while washing the dishes. It was also a friendly hand, trustworthy, supportive. How many times had her father helped her or gently put his hand on the crown of her head? _

_Laura doesn't hear them talking, she only sees them now. They are laughing. Papà helps Mamma in her coat. Palmira is her favorite cousin, but she doesn't want her parents to go. She knows what is going to happen to them. She wants to stop them, tell them they should not go, that they're going to die, but she can't. They're already at the door. She starts to run towards them, but the air is thick, making it difficult to walk. It feels like walking in deep water, she's so slow, too slow, she realizes she cannot reach them in time._

_She cries out, but makes no sound. Her parents wave at her. She lifts her arms, trying to stop them, but they don't seem to understand._

_When she finally reaches the door, her parents are already inside the car. It always takes about three times before the engine listens to her father's pleas and starts. This should give her plenty of time to reach the car, but the air outside is even more viscous. Walking at the speed of a snail. Then, sound. The engine protesting, once, with the exhaust shaking. _Don't go, Papà!_ Protesting twice. _You'll die! Don't leave me!_ The exhaust emitting a big cloud of blue smoke. The engine is running. Too late. The family dog barking somewhere behind her, terrifying her. She watches her parents drive off. She would never see them again._

.

Laura awoke, her nightshirt drenched with sweat. It was still dark, and she had trouble remembering where she was at first. Slowly, the memory of moving the mattress to the floor came back to her. Her eyes adapted and started to discern things. The dream still lingered in her head. She cradled herself with her arms.

The funeral service at their small family parish, a few days after her parents' car accident, was one big blank to her, except the sight of the two closed coffins with the photos of her parents on top of them.

She remembered her grandmother had taken her hand after the service and funeral, and took her back home, where the family gathered. Hers wasn't a large family, and all lived near. The small house was as crowded as with birthdays. No merry faces that day, though.

After some time, when the family had left, grandmother clutched Laura's hand and they went over to gran's. The old woman leaned on both her walking stick and Laura, as they walked to the even smaller and older house. Grandmother raised Laura there from that moment on as her parents' house was taken over by uncle Felice and aunt Ginevra. Only the things from her own room were brought to gran's.

.

Laura got up and went over to her walk-in closet. She turned on the lights. The sudden brightness made her dizzy, it took her a second or two to regain her balance. Decidedly, she moved the chair to a specific place and raised herself on it. Stretching out her arms, she could just reach a box. Prying it forward with her fingertips, then lifting it. She held it carefully as she stepped down again from the chair.

She walked over to the other side of the bed, sat down on the remaining mattress on Rinaldo's side and placed the box on the mattress, next to her on her left. Still silent, she removed the lid. It was hard to make out what was in the box in the oblique lighting from the closet, but Laura knew the things she wanted now were on top. Her hand went inside, it returned almost instantly holding four envelopes; a white one with Laura's name on it, a green one, a red one and a filled, sturdy, gray one.

The envelope with her name remained in her hand, the others were placed on the mattress on her right. She opened it, and took out two papers. Cats were calling outside. Her own cat stirred, but did not rise. Holding one of the papers to the light, Laura read.

.

_Laura, amore,_

_Forgive me for this letter, but it was a precaution I had to take._

_If you read this, I will be dead and buried, killed by Hannibal Lecter. You know him under the name of Dr. Fell. I'm sure you remember the man as being very polite, but appearances can deceive. He is the world's most wanted criminal, wanted by the FBI, a man on the run. And I found him._

_Believe me when I say that I was thinking of our future, Laura. The man is a monster. If the Questura would have found him, he would have been extradited to the United States, where he would have received the death penalty. But there is someone who wants him even more than the FBI. A man, brutally maimed by Hannibal Lecter, but alive. And he wants him dead also. _

_If both the FBI and his victim want him dead, but the latter is willing to pay for it, and a good deal of money too, wouldn't it be foolish to ignore that money? I'm not thinking of me only, or us. Think of all the good things we could also do with the money! The world a monster less, we five billion lira richer, Laura._

_Maybe you won't agree with my decision, but it is too late now to make things undone. If you read this, I am dead, and my decision does not matter anymore._

_The precaution I had to take is for sake of the money. It is still there for you to use. Mason Verger has placed it on escrow, and he will release it after the capture of Hannibal Lecter. The green envelope contains everything you need to get the money. Use it, my love, and think of me when you do._

_Should Mr. Verger decide not to release the money, send him what you'll find in the red envelope. I'm sure that will make him change his mind._

_The gray envelope contains an advance he has given me. It is yours now. Buy something you really like, but never could afford._

_To show you my love for you, I enclosed a sonnet I composed for you when we were courting. I did not dare show it then, you might have thought it silly of me._

_I loved you from the moment I first saw you. You wore that white summer dress and I could see you wore nothing underneath. _

_I never blamed you for my divorce, it was my choice. We were growing apart anyway._

_Remember me as a good man._

_Rinaldo._

_._

Laura did not bother to read the sonnet again, but put it aside. She picked up the sturdy envelope and turned it over and over in her hands.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

A Wednesday, early in the evening and Laura stood in front of her full-length mirror, studying her image. It was not the dress she was reflecting on. It was the details she needed to check.

She thought she'd wear a black band of silk as a sash to indicate mourning, but its knot would not rest elegantly on her left hip. She re-knotted the sash to correct that. Her new platinum necklace was just perfect. It complimented the sand-blasted denim dress in a delightful way, and Laura admired it for a moment, and the black sash did not disturb her appearance. Happy with the final result, she smiled briefly, then realized she would have refrain from smiling that enthusiastically this evening as it would not fit a woman that turned widow so recently. These months were going to be tougher than she'd thought.

.

Laura got out of the taxi. It drove off but Laura did not notice. She was as thrilled as ever when her godfather had his birthday, he was a very friendly and generous man. It had been quite a surprise when she opened the delivery box earlier this week and saw the dress he had sent her, since it was such an unusual fabric. Yet she decided it was one of the most exquisite articles of clothing she had ever worn after she tried it on, since the design itself was so intricate. But her wedding gown would always be number one, he had done such a marvelous job with it. A slight smile shone briefly upon her face.

She walked in the direction of the luxurious villa. Many other vehicles stopped at the entrance gate, people getting out of their cars, flashlights and the clicking of camera's when a celebrity was recognized. A Cavalli birthday party was a social event you would not want to miss.

A few of the paparazzi recognized the young, handsome widow and started to take pictures of her. She walked by, not responding to their shouting and waving. The guard at the entrance gate knew her well and admitted her without hesitation. Laura smiled at the man to thank him. Words were not needed, Laura had passed by often enough and besides, now was not the time for a conversation anyway. The walk to the villa was pleasant, the trees on both sides of the drive rustled in the gentle wind and the temperature was just above chilly.

.

At the door, another guard and again, no audit, only a smile. She entered the villa and was instantly greeted by Eva.

"Laura, how nice! Are you okay?" she said, kissing Laura's cheeks.

"I'm very fine, thank you. How's the birthday boy?"

"As excited as can be," Eva laughed. "You know, that dress looks even better now that you are wearing it, he will be pleased. I remember a model trying it on, and it was fine, but it fits and becomes you even better."

"Where is Roberto?"

"If he's not in the living room, you'll probably find him in the kitchen. You know, always interfering and giving his opinion. And probably enjoying the sampling... Go see him, I'll talk to you later!"

Laura smiled, and Eva turned to the next guests arriving, as friendly and beautiful as ever.

.

Laura walked over to the living room. She could hear Roberto's contagious laughter from far away. It was his 56th birthday, yet his voice was that of a real birthday boy; very excited and somewhat higher pitched than normal. Well, the man himself was acting rather like a child too, Laura noticed as she entered the room where Roberto was. Large and swift gestures, eyes darting everywhere, but they held Laura's eyes as he saw her. His smile grew even wider - which was quite an accomplishment.

"Laura! Hold on, I'm coming!" he said and came over to her immediately. He hugged her, and told her he was so pleased to see her.

"And it's good to see you to, Roberto. Happy birthday!" she said and handed him a small package.

"Ah now, Laura, you shouldn't have! May I unwrap it?" he asked.

"It's your birthday, isn't it? Go ahead," Laura said and could not help but smile.

Roberto removed the silver and brown wrapping. Inside it was a plastic box. He looked puzzled at Laura, who only nodded he should open it. He did and looked inside. Then, still puzzled, he took out a plastic girl's necklace, the silver paint had peeled off in most places.

"I could have bought you something, but I wanted to share an idea with you. It came to me when I was buying a new necklace; that one already is mine, I wore it as a child. As I was looking at all those necklaces, I wondered why you weren't designing jewelry also. I would like you to consider doing that."

Roberto was dumbstruck for a moment. Then a grand smile broke through and he laughed out loud. It was a hearty laughter, appraising her gift. It took him a minute to compose himself.

"That's the best gift I've been given tonight," he said and hugged her once more.

"Now, is this the necklace you bought?" he asked.

"Yes, I bought it right after I tried on this new dress you sent me."

"It's nice. I like it, the combination with the dress is delightful. Silver, I guess? Bit difficult to tell in this light."

"No, platinum."

"Platinum? Hm, I hope it wasn't too expensive for you? You know you can always ask for my help, my dear," he rebuked her with a smile. "Be careful with it."

Laura only smiled coyly. A momentary lapse of reason as a memory invaded her.

.

_Laura's grandmother dressing her up. Off to Church for the Easter Vigil on Holy Saturday. Laura wearing her best dress and she's almost too afraid to move after being warned to be careful with it. The Duomo. The darkness, suddenly broken by the lighting of the Paschal candle. Her grandmother in awe as the Exultet was sung. And then her grandmother almost cursing the priest for his sermon on Judas' thirty pieces of silver, which she deemed unfitting for Easter Vigil._

_._

Laura knew some of the guests at Roberto's party from her occasional visits, some from the time she and Rinaldo had been in the spotlights after the capture and conviction of Tocca. Many wanted to have a talk with her, ask her how she was doing.

Laura watched other women, most often models or celebrities, wearing Roberto's work. She saw printed leather, animal prints. She privately enjoyed the thought he had given her those dresses too, and the fact they were still in her closet, ready to wear.

.

A man came over to her, and handed her a new glass of Alchermes.

"I noticed your preference for this drink and your empty glass," he said.

Laura was taken aback slightly, but she managed to restore her wits quickly.

"And I notice you are not having a drink at all. Rather unusual to bring a woman a drink and not drink yourself."

The man laughed heartily.

"Quite true. I hope you will forgive me for not drinking," he said, still smiling.

"You're twisting my words," is what Laura thought, but did not say. She was sure he had merely tried to be funny to make her smile. There was no indication of false notes in his tone. Why do men so often underestimate women? Laura breathed in to regain her cool. This wasn't the moment to reproach someone, nor was she in the mood for that.

"Tell me, teetotaler, how long have you been watching me?"

"Long enough to notice your drink but short enough not to be considered following you. I'm sure I'm not the only one who has been watching you, but I am the only one who was audacious enough to act."

Laura could not help but smile at his bold witty ingenuity.

"But let me introduce myself," he said. "My name is Vittorio Mucche."

"Hello Vittorio. Since you've been watching me, I'm sure you already know my name?"

"As a matter of fact, I had already recognized you."

Laura watched his face as Vottirio realized he had said something foolish. It was fun to see him, up till now not at a loss for words, grasping for the right words to correct his error. She decided to humor him, and speak first. Then she saw Roberto signaling to her.

"Vittorio, you seem to know more about me than I about you. It's something we normally could have leveled, but I see our host waving for me. Will you excuse me?"

"Most certainly. It was a pleasure to be of service."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

A few weeks later, Laura was again present at Cavalli's. Roberto and Eva had sent her an invitation for the celebration of New Year's Eve with them.

.

A small group of people was savoring their meal, enjoying a cup of espresso or cappuccino at the large colonial table in the kitchen. It was a moment like many before, and it indicated her godfather's ways. Instead of what most people would have thought considering his wealth, he was quite down-to-earth. Among the group were several people of the staff and everybody was talking with each other. Laura was having a conversation with the man who had been front guard at Roberto's birthday. He had been an employee for some years now and Laura was well acquainted with him, as with other guards, housekeepers and staff.

In a few minutes, the President would read his message of greetings to the Italians. They turned their chairs towards the television. Conversations simmered slowly away. Then President Gronchi appeared on screen. Eva turned up the volume and all listened to the man's speech. A short applause for his kind words afterwards. They rose and walked over to the living room, Roberto taking Laura by the arm.

"Let's talk for a while, Laura. There's plenty of time before the first guests arrive. How are you doing?"

Laura sighed.

"It's difficult playing the mourning widow when you're not mourning, but full of life and joy."

"So you told me," Roberto said and looked at the merry widow and waited.

Without really thinking about it, Laura raised her arms somewhat and turned her palms up, then lowered her arms again. A sigh escaped her.

"I'm still the widow Pazzi to all of them. But I don't feel a widow, because I don't feel a Pazzi. Not anymore."

They sat down on a large sofa.

"The last months with Rinaldo were terrible. But I don't mean his degradation or how people treated us. It was Rinaldo himself. He wasn't the man I married anymore. It wasn't his downfall that caused it, I'm sure of that."

"You know, he used to be so kind to me. We were like young children when things started between us. It never felt to me that Rinaldo was much older. We spent so much time with each other, and we shared our thoughts. Maybe the Mostro case was asking a lot of him, but he made me feel I was the first thing on his mind when he woke up, and I guess I usually was."

Laura's brown eyes clouded with wistfulness.

"Everything was great, and fortune smiled upon us when Rinaldo caught Tocca. We had a perfect time. He received money to study in America and took me with him. He bought me all kinds of gifts. The silly man. Bought me white sneakers and took me for a walk down the shoreline. I ran away, teasing him so he would chase me."

A blush appeared on her face. She shook her head once to focus.

"The sneakers were ruined in a day, but he did not mind. He did mind being called back to Italy for the review of Tocca's conviction. And it was terrible to see him wither as time went by. _But that was not the moment he changed._ He still confided in me, then. It was some time later that it started. I could not think of any reason for this change in him. He just closed up to me. It took me some time to think of a good reason why he would do that. And it took me time to accept the thought that he was seeing another woman."

"It was the only thing possible. He shared next to nothing. And he was away more often than needed, and not for the Questura. I know that for sure, I called his office a few times and was told it was his day off. I could almost hear them laugh. It was terrible."

Roberto listened intensively and nodded.

"I was sure he was going to leave me for that other woman. I think I tried to regain his attention. He always used to buy me presents, thinking that was the way to my heart. Well, who doesn't like presents and having plenty of attention? But that's not all I wanted from him."

"So I used his gifts. He had started giving them more frequently. I took that as a sign I was right, he wanted to avoid arousing suspicion with them. I tried to get his attention with them. I wore the clothes he gave me. I used the perfume he had given me. We went to the theater. But it didn't work. Sure, he sat next to me, but he was not with me. He was distracted and nervous. I thought the other woman was around, but I could not see one following him or us with her eyes. Rinaldo was already dead to me, even before he was killed."

Roberto took her hands into his and patted them softly.

"Now, with Rinaldo dead and buried, I am free, but I'm the widow Pazzi, not Laura Bugiardini."

Roberto remained silent for a while, knowing there was nothing he could say or do to help her. She needed to work things out for herself.

It had been a relief sharing the true parts of the story with her godfather, but Laura hated herself for the lies she had told him. Well, Rinaldo's letter and corruption was something she could not share with him, not now at least.

"You know, Laura, I am so sorry for you. I wish I could really help you."

Their eyes met briefly. Laura saw his sympathy in them.

"But for this moment, there's nothing I can do but wish you'll have a pleasant evening. Forget your past for the remains of the day, focus on the future. No better moment for that than New Year's Eve, right?"

He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"Yes," smiled Laura. "You're right. I'll do my best to have a nice evening."

"That's my girl."

.

More people had gathered at Cavalli's house to celebrate. Not as many as with his birthday, this evening was strictly for fun. Only friends had been invited, no business this night. It was a gathering of long-time friends, dear colleagues, befriended actors and such. Some people were celebrating their umpteenth Eve here, some were here for the first time. All were having a good time.

Laura was truly having a nice evening also, as she had promised Roberto. With less people present, conversations were really enjoyable. She had talked with Eva for some time, who made her laugh a lot with all the funny anecdotes she told. She seemed to have a memory for anything droll.

After some time, as midnight was nearing but still too far away to get together, Laura decided to walk about the house. She looked at the various _objets d'art_ she encountered, sometimes admiring the masterpieces, sometimes thinking they were a waste of money. She wouldn't admit that last thought to her godfather, of course. It was mainly in the area of sculpture that some pieces were not to her liking. She preferred paintings. Even if it was just paint on canvas, she could almost always recognize the deeper layer of meaning the artist had worked into the work, sometimes she could only sense it and hoped she would be able to discern it sometime in the future.

A collection of photographs was displayed on one wall. All were black and white, Laura guessed they were at least fifty years old. A bizarre portrait titled 'Marquise Casati' almost scared her, the woman had such pronounced black outlines around her eyes, and a dead gaze. But another picture really took hold of her attention. A woman, resting on her one arm, holding a wooden mask near her face, eyes shut. The contrast between light and dark, or rather between black and white, was very intense. The black hairs against the almost white face, the dark mask with the bare shoulder and hand.

Suddenly she noticed someone was standing behind her. She could feel it. She turned and saw a woman, some actress whose name she could not recall right away, looking over her shoulder at the picture she had been staring at. Laura felt the gentle warmth of the actress' breath on her skin.

"It is as if she's going to open her eyes and stare at us, isn't it?" she heard the woman almost whisper behind her.

Laura nodded over her shoulder.

"I imagine she would see us, smile and rise slowly. Wouldn't that be a sight?" she continued.

Laura looked at the bare shoulder and hand in the picture. She knew exactly what the actress meant to say; it was a sensuous picture.

Laura turned around and had to take a slight step back to see more than just her face. The warmth she had felt on her back with this woman directly behind her was replaced by the cold expression of the wall. She could feel the goose bumps rising on her back.

"I'm Callista," said the woman.

"I'm Laura," she answered, smiling from confusion.

Callista simply looked at Laura for a moment and did not speak. She was appraising her. Yet, it did not make Laura feel ill at ease. She was familiar with people staring at her. But the intensity with which she was being watched was unfamiliar, coming from a woman.

Callista put her hand on Laura's upper arm and gently directed Laura a bit to the end of the room, to a more private place. She let go of her arm but remained close by.

"You have such a lovely smile."

Laura looked down, embarrassed.

"Really, you do. Come on, don't be shy and look at me."

Callista put her index finger under Laura's chin and made her look up again.

"Not many people have said that to me."

"I don't believe that," she said reproachful but also dainty. "And I think they should have. But now it's me saying it."

Slowly, she moved her fingers up to Laura's mouth. Once there, she softly stroked her lips.

Laura's stomach was feeling like jelly pudding. She had always been told this was wrong, but it felt really good. She noticed every fraction of an inch the fingers moved, every breath Callista was taking. She saw her shoulders rising with every breath she took. And she noticed her own breathing was as prominent as Callista's.

Callista let go of her lips, her hand moved down, past Laura's chin, past her neck. It touched the fringe of Laura's blouse, and remained there, moving up and down with Laura's breath.

"_Dieci! Nove! Otto!_" they heard from somewhere else in the house.

"It's almost midnight," Laura started.

"_Sette! Sei! Cinque!_"

"I know," Callista said softly, not moving a bit.

"_Quattro! Tre!_"

Laura looked at Callista.

"_Due! Uno!_"

"_Buon anno_," Callisto whispered, and kissed Laura.

* * *

_* Bugiardini means 'Little liars'._

_* Photos by Man Ray._

_* Callista means 'Most beautiful' and is a character in Greek Mythology..._


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Not even a month later, the _Direttore_ of the Questura accompanied Laura once more up the stairs of the Questura building. Her world experienced yet another landslide now that a new suspect for the _Il Mostro_ case had been caught.

.

The _Direttore_ had phoned Laura even before the actual arrest had taken place. She knew he had several reasons why he called, but Laura appreciated it anyway. He told her about the upcoming arrest and predicted her life would be subject to the media's attention again. He suggested she attend the first press conference and be part of the show. She agreed to give them anything they needed to know, it would round off her participation in the case. Permanently ending her involvement was very appealing to her.

.

One hour after the arrest, he appeared at her house with one of the finer vehicles in the Questura rolling-stock, a Maserati Quattroporte, with driver. He puffed as he climbed the stairs to her front door. Laura had been waiting behind the door for him, to avoid him entering her house. She heard his breathing, it preceded the doorbell. Laura stepped outside, her face blank. If circumstances had allowed, Laura would have laughed at his bewildered gaze. Instead, she offered him her arm. They walked to the car, the driver helped with the doors.

.

At the Questura, a thick crowd of paparazzi, serious journalists and sensation addicted people populated the stairs. This was where the _Direttore_ came in handy; he knew how to handle this mob. He charged it as a rhino, creating a path for them to walk through. As they passed various microphones and cameras, questions were thrown at her.

"How do you feel about capital punishment?"

"Are you glad Il Mustro is finally caught?"

The _Direttore_ had told her in the car this would happen, and had instructed her not to answer nor to look at them. The show was going to happen inside, following the Questura's directions. So she avoided the eyes of the crowd and followed her corpulent guide.

.

The press room was filled to the brim. This unexpected event had everybody's attention, the conference would be broadcast live on the national television. The room was a makeshift studio filled with floodlights, emitting enough heat to drive out the January cold. Laura took off her coat and handed it over to the female officer that had asked her for it. The woman then guided her to one of the chairs behind the long table.

Microphones were still being attached to the table, an amalgam forest of black and bright colored plastic, metal and foam. Dictaphones were held ready. Notepads and pens.

The officials entered the room, the _Direttore _leading the way. He took the chair in the middle of the table. Once all were seated, nameplates were placed. Laura couldn't see what name they had put on hers, she had to suppress the urge to pick it up and look at it.

.

"I thank you all for coming here on such short notice. You all know why we are here. I have already heard many questions. We are here to provide answers."

The _Direttore_ looked at the audience to see if he had everybody's attention, even if it was superfluous. His deep voice held such an authority that all others had subsided the moment it had sounded.

"I would like to start with saying this meeting is in remembrance of the late Questura inspector Rinaldo Pazzi. His widow, signora Pazzi, joins us to honor him."

A good part of the cameras and heads swiveled to get a good picture of her. The _Direttore_ took his time before he spoke again.

"We have made an arrest today. We suspect this man of being the notorious serial killer _Il Mostro_. The exact details will be given in a moment by the head of the team that arrested him. Our inspector Pazzi had spent years of his life trying to catch this killer. It is in Pazzi's remembrance and honor that we bring you this news. We are sure this is the man he was after. We have all confidence this will finally close his case."

Laura could feel the cameras pointed at her. She maintained a timid pose, her eyes somewhat cast down.

.

"… and when he compared the information from this new clue with Pazzi's list of suspects, it matched with one of them. No doubt about it. The years Pazzi spent on the case finally paid off. This arrest is truly in his honor. Gregorio Sicuro will inform you of all the details now, he is the head of the team that made the arrest."

Everybody's attention went to the man next to the _Direttore_.

.

All the questions that had been thrown at her when they entered the building were repeated here, only this time on a normal volume. Laura knew what to answer. The questions had been running through her mind from the moment they had been posed. One had been very persistent: what did she think of capital punishment? She'd never given it a thought. Crime and punishment was Rinaldo's territory, but now it was up to her to decide whether it was justified to kill the perpetrator of a murder or not.

The answer was clear from the moment she thought of the people she knew guilty of murder. The man they arrested, _Il Mostro_, deserved it. And when she thought of the murderer of her husband, knowing he killed many more and did countless hideous things, it was clear he deserved the same punishment.

The strange thing was that when she thought of the man himself and called him by his name, the memory of her single encounter with him flooded her mind. His gallant behavior, so different from the staring and ogling she normally endured. She still had his parchment and overlay notes, and enjoyed looking at it every once in a while.

That was when she thought capital punishment was not an option. She could not accept it since it did not take into account everything else a murderer might also be or be capable of. Does a murder outweigh intellect? Or finesse?

.

The press room was free of journalists within five minutes after the _Direttore_ had closed the meeting. Only a few technicians remained, disconnecting cameras and microphones, winding cables. The men behind the table thought this was a good moment to kick back and relax. Laura wasn't very comfortable with the situation. Nobody was talking to her so she sat in awkward silence. The _Direttore _was involved in a conversation and seemed to have forgotten all about her.

She was glad to see a colleague of Rinaldo enter the room and walk towards her. But he had hardly started talking to her when she knew the _Direttore_ was looking at them. She couldn't exactly see him, but she felt it. And not a minute later he rose, said goodbye to the other men and walked over to them.

"Ms. Pazzi, would you like to go home now?"

Within an infinite span of time, Laura wondered if she should mirror his rudeness. She could do it since he had rudely interrupted the barely started conversation, but more than that, it would tell him to back off out of her life a little as well.

She took a few seconds to finish her sentence. Only then did she slowly lift her head and look at him. She just hoped he wasn't that blunt that he wouldn't recognize her anger at his insolence.

"As a matter of fact, _Direttore_, I have just been offered a ride. But, thank you for the offer," she said without a smile.

When he didn't immediately answer, she lowered her head again to resume the conversation that had been interrupted. She could hear him breathing, somewhat unevenly, slightly bloated, and knew he had understood. She had to suppress a smile. The man resumed his place among the others. Her interlocutor coughed shortly, then spoke.

"In that case... would you prefer me driving you home, or a cab?"

"I'd prefer you driving me, else he would be really pissed off."

The man snorted briefly at her language.

.

As she got out of the car, Laura could see the cameras pointed at her from within the cars on the other side of the street. She realized something then. She was conspicuous. Roberto as her godfather, Rinaldo as her late husband, herself as a beautiful woman in society. This press conference hadn't closed her case, it had just been part of it. She would always be in the public picture from now on, and she would have to be careful. The attention they would spend on her would fluctuate through time but never would it fail. She understood the Florence media would always be around, watching her, scrutinizing her actions.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

It was a rainy March day that Laura went for some groceries and more. She decided upon the shopping mall to avoid the rain. Her first purchases were lingerie and some blouses and scarves. When she checked the time while leaving the store, she was surprised to see one and a half hours had already passed. Another advantage of the mall was that her car was nearby, she put her new clothes in the trunk.

She was walking through the mall again when she suddenly heard someone calling her name right behind her. She turned around and looked into the face of Vittorio. He was gleaming with delight, in spite of the rain and the dark sky.

"Laura, how nice to meet you here!"

"Hello, Vittorio."

"How are you doing? I saw you on the television."

"I'm fine, thank you. How are you?" she asked out of politeness.

"Doing great. You know, you complained I knew more about you than you knew about me. I'd like to correct that. May I invite you for a coffee? Actually," he said, seeing her face, "I insist. It's time for coffee anyway, so why not allow me to buy it for you?"

The man was a slight nuisance, but his smile did wonders. Laura laughed.

"Okay, you win. Buy me some coffee and tell me who you are."

Vittorio's smile widened, something Laura would have deemed impossible a moment ago.

.

Contrary to what she had expected, Vittorio turned out to be pleasant company. He seemed to possess an unlimited collection of anecdotes. He was very entertaining with his stories about one specific politician's financial disasters.

Vittorio said he had some business to do and signaled the waiter for the bill. Laura thanked him, Vittorio told her to think nothing of it. The waiter arrived, the bill folded on a saucer. Vittorio leaned over slightly to get his wallet out of his back pocket. Laura instantly saw the shock in his eyes.

"My wallet!"

He rose and looked at the floor. Then he patted his back and front pockets again.

"Where's my wallet?" he muttered.

He checked the floor again. Laura also looked, but they did not find it there.

"Check all your pockets," she said.

"It's always in my back pocket, I'm sure of that."

"Check them anyway!"

He patted all his pockets, then searched them thoroughly. He found his keys and some papers, but no wallet.

"Did you search all your pockets?"

"Of course!" he said impatiently. "Oh, I'm sorry, Laura. Excuse me."

Laura nodded.

"It must have be stolen," she said.

"I can't believe it! Is it really not on the floor?" he said and checked it again. Then he patted his pockets, but with less conviction in his movements.

"It's stolen, Vittorio."

His hands stopped searching. The consequences of the loss permeated his expression. He swiftly looked at Laura. She could see a slight blush on his face, he did not speak immediately.

"Vittorio," she spoke quickly, "I'll pay for the coffee."

She could see the relief in his face before he actually spoke his words of gratitude.

Laura put the necessary bills on the saucer and rose.

"Well, it has been fun, Vittorio. But I have to be going, I still have some shopping to do."

"Laura, …" Vittorio started to say.

Laura could see a slight blush again.

"No need to apologize, or be sorry, Vittorio. These things happen."

Two seconds passed. He nodded.

"And I'm off to my car," he said.

"Are you in the parking garage?"

"I am."

Then the implication hit him, again.

"Here, take this," said Laura and got out her wallet again.

"Oh no, Laura," he started to object.

"Be quiet. Getting your car will be a lot easier with some money."

She smiled and gave him a bunch of banknotes.

"Off you go now. And don't forget to block your credit cards as soon as possible!"

"I won't! Thanks again, Laura. Goodbye!"

"Goodbye, Vittorio."

She smiled as he left. Silly man.

.

That evening, a phone call.

"Hi, Laura. It's Callista."

Laura said hello and asked how she was doing. She was amazed at the steadiness of her own voice.

"Everything is perfect. You know, I've been thinking about you."

Callista kept a heartbeat of silence before continuing.

"I received two tickets for a performance of Scriabin's Symphony No. 4. Would you like to go with me?"

Laura's hand that held the telephone trembled. She most definitely wanted to.

"Eh.. that's rather unexpected, Callista. But I'd love to. When is it?"

"That's wonderful! Shall I come by now for the details?"

Her hand trembled even more. She could feel the heat radiating from her face. Her neck was like white melitote.

"Please, do."

"Okay. I'll be there in a minute. Bye!"

"Bye, Callista."

.

Paparazzi at the entrance of the church. They knew this performance would attract the rich and famous. Their cameras flashed worse than lightning on a stuffy late-summer night.

Laura and Callista had parked their car a few streets away and enjoyed the short walk together, getting some fresh air. Once they neared the church and were recognized, cameras swiveled towards them and clicked away. They had put on some fabulous clothes. It had been delightful getting dressed, they had helped each other with the choice of dress and accessories. Laura was glad Callista adored her platinum necklace and had her wear it, she did not have many other fancy ones.

They ignored the obnoxious catcalls from the crowd as they entered the church.

.

"Ms. Pazzi, I presume?"

"Yes?"

Laura turned to look at who had addressed her, but did not let go of Callista. A familiar face, some local politician whose name she couldn't remember at once.

"Did you enjoy the performance?" he asked, not bothering to introduce himself. Two young women dawdled at his side, very clearly not really interested in the conversation.

"Yes, I did."

"You know, I had the privilege of having a few lunch meetings with your late husband a few times."

Laura remembered the man's name. Only Callista noticed Laura's grip on her arm tightening, she wondered why. The man continued, not disturbed by Laura's silence.

"I liked the performance. A church is such a wonderful place for this kind of music."

Callista came to Laura's aid.

"I'm afraid Scriabin would not have agreed with you on that. Art was a kind of religion for him. He would have preferred a regular and adaptable stage with colored lights."

"You seem to really know the composer. Do you agree with his thoughts?"

Laura remembered what Rinaldo once told her about this man. He had been investigating some of his business back then and needed to air his disgust of him.

_"That bastard is as sleek as an eel and as dangerous as a shark. He'll eat anyone coming too close to him."_

Callista answered the man.

"I do. But I admit the performance here was not disagreeable. I like it that they actually printed the accompanying poem in the program."

"It would be such a pleasure if we could talk some more. May I invite you for a drink at my house?" he said, looking at both Laura and Callista.

Laura knew it was wise to decline in the friendliest way. She put on her most affable smile.

"You're very kind, but I'm afraid we are engaged for the evening. Perhaps another time," she said and gently walked away with Callista. Not too quick so he would not be offended but quick enough so he would not have time to reply.

"Trust me," she whispered, "you don't want to get to know him any better."

"It never was my intention, Laura. Just playing with him."

Laura warned her with her eyes.

"I have heard it's better not to play with him."

Laura's intonation made Callista's face freeze.

"I see," she muttered.

* * *

_* Scriabin's Symphony No. 4 is called 'Poem of ecstasy'_

_* "Her neck is like white melitote." from Oscar Wilde's 'La Bella Donna della Mia Mente'_


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Laura walked over to the windows and pulled open the lilac blinds, changing the color and feel of the room to a happy, sunny-morning-in-June white. A smile on her face, a song in her head: _Wonderwall_.

She crossed the room, picking up the keys while drifting by the table and turned on the ceiling fan with the wall switch. Sliding through the house, to the mailbox. Key in the lock, turn it, rasping metal squeal. Remember to buy some oil. Newspapers, advertising brochures, envelopes with letters and bills. Quite a bunch today.

Back in the room, Laura starts to dance in the sunlight. Her cat walked in from the adjourning room and danced with her, sliding its feet on the bare floor. Laura looked at the feline and smiled. Having removed the rug from the floor turned out to be a great decision, it was only her cat who didn't agree with her on that.

.

Working through the stack, Laura shifted the different sorts of mail. She disliked the local newspapers thoroughly, maybe even hated them. Their first concern ought to be informing the people on local news, but it seemed they were trying to take the place of the stupid tabloids, with their paparazzi-style pictures on the front page. She collected them and would throw them away unread. Brochures were great. Laura shifted the brochures, stacking the ones from interesting shops, the others joined the newspapers. Bills, and more bills. Or perhaps not? One envelope was purposely, decidedly different; a sturdy mauve envelope which immediately caught her attention. Her name and address were handwritten, beautiful and with a freakish regularity.

It is an axiom most attention is received by being copious. But if everybody is copious, modesty is the odd one out and will guarantee attention above all screaming. This piece of mail was conspicuous by being inconspicuously gentle and artful. A white daisy in a field of red poppies.

She studied the envelope. Besides her address a stamp, nothing on the backside. The stamp was from 'Nederland' - Laura was not sure where that was - but she recognized the picture on it. She had seen it before, but couldn't remember who had painted it right now. She saw a servant maid handing a letter to a young woman holding a lute. It was a nice scene for a painting.

.

Laura took the paper-knife from the sideboard and walked over to the bench. She sat down and opened the envelope carefully; its appearance compelled such treatment. Inside, two sheets of thick paper, of unrivaled quality. Almost _freaky_ to write a letter on such paper. Who would do such a thing? Laura unfolded the sheets and started to read.

.

_Dear Laura,_

_What a shame things have turned out the way they did. It would have been most delightful if we could have met again, even if only once. I trust you enjoyed the second part of the Scarlatti performance as much as the first. Perhaps even better, with the antique score that I gave you at hand?_

Not a word from Laura, but her facial expression and the tension of muscles in her body give away she knows who wrote the letter. A blush appears on her face.

_I hope you don't mind me addressing you solely with your forename. If so, please forgive me, but it was my impression me addressing you as the widow Pazzi would be rather rude, don't you agree?_

Her face a shade less shocked and more cross.

_I perceive you have played your part of mourning widow with verve. And may I compliment you on the clothes you have been wearing lately? They are very becoming. They remind me of the pictures of you from when you were in America, when _commendatore_ Pazzi was being celebrated for catching _Il Mostro_. _

_You've achieved what you've always wanted: a luxurious life, being appraised and loved. Didn't you marry Rinaldo just for that? The fame and money? Marrying him was your ticket to society. But did you ever realize you submitted yourself to the constraints of a life with Rinaldo? That you restricted yourself to the limits of his life? It was his money, his connections, his friends, his world. But it was fun, wasn't it?_

_But then they found out the celebrated _commendatore_ Pazzi had planted the evidence on Tocca himself. He cheated. His world collapsed. That put an end to most of the fun, didn't it? Because it was not only his world that collapsed, it was your world too._

Angry Laura rose from the couch, staring at the letter. Her cat turned its head at her sudden movement, but put it back between its paws when it saw Laura getting back on the couch.

_But still there were the luxurious gifts and purchases. The Gucci cover, for instance, and the perfume. Did you ever wonder where the money for these presents came from? I believe you probably did not. But you do now. _

_You do now, since you know about the bounty _commendatore_ Pazzi was to receive in exchange for my life. I'm sure Rinaldo left you a note in which he tried to rationalize why he sold me, he was that kind of man._

Laura mouths the word _Porco_ with a snarl.

_Judging from the tabloid pictures, you've found the one hundred and sixty million lira in cash, and used it. I'd be disappointed if you had not. So many wonderful things to see and buy in Florence. May I complement you on your lovely necklace?_

_But, more than that, you know about the _three million dollars_. Almost five billion in Italian currency. An awful lot of money, don't you agree? You could buy almost anything you ever wanted with it._

_But you haven't. _

_I would have noticed if you had. Why not? Are you feeling guilty? The money was for the delivery of my person into the hands of someone who was after me. Ask yourself: who sold me, knowing I would be tortured to death - you or your _faithful_ husband, the celebrated _commendatore_ Pazzi? They say he was trying to reclaim his honor by capturing me - you've seen how easy it is to mislead people. But you know the truth. Rinaldo Pazzi was a bounty hunter._

With reddened eyes, Laura muttered the words _Blood Money_.

_Rinaldo Pazzi did not trust you while he was after me. He did not confide in you. He chose to act on his own. The only time he was willing to involve you in his little scheme, and in doing so risking your life - well, at least that's what he thought - was when his own life was at stake._

_Let's consider for a moment why he did not confide in you. If not trust, what did he want from you, or need from you? Did he need you because of you, or did he need you as a confirmation of his own ego? Perhaps you just made him feel young and alive._

_You have ample experience of being praised for beauty, but being treated gallantly is something completely different, don't you agree?_

Again a single word from Laura. _Bastardo_.

_And now your situation is different, yet so many things have remained the same. You're still in that man's circle. You've lived long enough under his wings. It's time to fly, _piccione_. Fly and escape the Duomo you have built around yourself._

A cry escaped Laura's lips. She closed her eyes and remembered standing outside the Duomo when she was a child. She could see her grandmother standing next to her, holding her with a trembling arm. People were oddly giddy. She looked at the Duomo and suddenly saw a pigeon fly outside, escaping the Duomo. Then, fireworks from out of nowhere and the crowd roaring, cheering and celebrating. Her grandmother with uplifted arms and a smile on her face. Feeling joy and amazement. And suddenly it was as if she could see herself from a distance, standing there, outside the Duomo, and she realized everything was so grand.

She opened her eyes again. A single tear slid over her cheek. She did not wipe it away. She took the letter again.

_The man who put the bounty on my head is dead. Rinaldo is dead. And nobody is getting any wiser from the money than the banker who is holding it in escrow. It's yours, Signora Pazzi. Your husband left it to you and it's waiting for you to claim it. Take it, and you'll find it offers you the chance of escaping someone else's limits. It's enough to live your own life, as _you_ wish._

_Two suggestions though:_

_If you would like to avoid attracting any attention to yourself while spending that amount of money, I suggest you move somewhere else, most preferably another country. Make a fresh start and you'll find living inconspicuously within your own borders will be very satisfying. _La Vita Nuova.

_And the other suggestion is a visit to Paris. A delightful city, you'll love it. So many wonderful things to see. And while you're there, try Canard à l'orange at Restaurant Jules Verne. Do call in advance since it probably won't be on the menu, but they will be honored to prepare it for you. You'll have to excuse me for not being able to cook it myself for you. I would have loved to, but I'm afraid circumstances won't allow me to do so. We're rather busy these days. I believe you'll understand and forgive me._

_Fly free, little _piccione_._

_H._

_._

Unnerved, Laura rises. Her eyes never leave the letter and they fly over the paper as her body oscillates slowly like a pendulum. Her right hand goes up to her mouth and covers it for a few seconds. It moves up and grips a loose strand of a hair for a moment. Laura drops onto the couch and rises again immediately as if the couch was burning hot.

She circles the room, still holding the letter in her left hand but she's no longer looking at it. The hand is down by her side. Her eyes are looking far away. She sees nothing, until she stares out of a window and her eyes find focus in the distance.

Florence.

The houses across the street are dirty.

In a sudden movement, birds fly off. Laura watches them go.

"_Fly free_," she echoes softly, and smiles.

* * *

_* Wonderwall: by Oasis_

_* The stamp: Vermeer's 'The Love Letter'_


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

The taxi driver looks up as he sees a door open. He recognizes the woman leaving the building as his fare. She crosses the street hastily. Quickly, he loses his cigarette and walks over to his car. A glance at his watch tells him she was away for 23 minutes. He could get used to being paid to wait.

She doesn't look at him and opens the back door herself and enters the car. Frowning, he walks to the other side of the car, waving goodbye to the blond waitress from the cafe.

He gets in behind the wheel.

"Back to the airport."

Her instructions were given more quickly than he wished. Now, he did not have the chance to turn around and look at her. He sighed and adjusted his mirrors, including the rearview mirror. There, he could see her anyway.

She didn't notice it. He couldn't see her eyes for the dragonfly sunglasses she now wore, but she was looking outside.

"Sure took your time, lady. Doesn't matter to me, since you're paying, but you sure took your time. Everything fine? Didn't even have time to finish my coffee. No worries, I'll get myself another one at the airport. Coffee isn't as good there, but it'll do. You want to know where they serve the best coffee?"

No reply. Not once. A glimpse into the mirror told him she was still looking outside. Apparently lost in thoughts. He couldn't know she had decided not to tip him for his insolence.

He noticed the cigarette then. He disliked his passengers smoking in the car, but when he saw her trembling hand, he knew he shouldn't bother this time. He could see the smoke drifting up. She was hiding her face behind the smoke and glasses.

In her mind, scenes from the last 24 hours.

.

Not used to traveling by plane, Laura was uncomfortable and irritable. Almost all other journeys she ever made had been by car. Rinaldo had been very fond of driving, so he drove her to Nice and Cannes and to Rome. He took her to Venice the year before their visit to the United States. That time had been bliss from the second Rinaldo had told her they were going. It was her first flight ever, but she remembered next to nothing. She had been too nervous at the moment to really enjoy it. She was glad they had many memorable moments there. But their flight back with pissed off Rinaldo next to her was one big thorn in her soul, stinging and infecting.

On the commercial flight with Swiss Air, Laura pondered her task ahead. She found Rinaldo had prepared everything. He told her what to do and added a letter with instructions for the officials at the bank. All she had to do was enter the building, hand over the letter, her passport and Rinaldo's death certificate. Not much of a strategy, but it seemed to be the only way to the money.

She was annoyed there was no direct flight to Geneva and a transfer at Zürich was required. But the obliging Swiss supported her first steps into her new life the best they could. The pretty air-hostesses were very accommodating.

.

Upon her arrival at Geneva, she first went for something to eat. The short flights had not included a meal and there had been no time during the transfer. She looked around the airport and found that the only place where something fairly decent could be obtained was the bakery. She made do with a few rolls.

Laura went for the first taxi she saw. The taxi driver was standing next to his car. When he saw the pretty lady was coming for him, he threw away his cigarette and opened the front door for her. She thanked him, but not too friendly. Business to do. Besides, he was not what she considered her ticket to an entertaining evening. But once they drove away, a slight regret nestled that she ought to have been more selective.

"Okay, sure, your wish is my command. I'll wait for you until you're finished. But are you sure you want to return to the airport right away then? You can have a good time here, if you know the town."

She smiled politely, but didn't answer.

"It's not far anymore, lady, we're almost there. I'll be waiting at the cafe at the other side of the street, okay? Great place, great service."

He parked the car and walked over to the other side of the car to open the door for her. He looked at her fine legs as she walked away, his eyes as greedy as a hyena's.

.

Her arrival at the Crédit Suisse office was handled neatly. The bank official that received her took her to a secluded room and asked her how he could be of assistance. A slight smile adorned his mouth, but his eyes were plainly sincere. She handed him the papers and her passport and told him the letter held the instructions.

He thanked her and placed everything neatly in front of him. Then he took the letter from the envelope, unfolded it and started to read. While he read, Laura kept her focus on him, but he did not ask any questions. When he finished the letter, he took the death certificate and her passport, and looked through them. Then he begged pardon to check the state of affairs. As she consented, he turned to the computer at the side of the desk and started typing.

Laura was nervous but managed to appear calm. Her eyes went around the room, but there wasn't much to see. It was a neat and scrubbed room and would have been empty without the desk and two chairs. The desk had a smooth wooden surface, reflecting the subtle ceiling lights.

The man turned back to her.

"I'm afraid there's somewhat of a problem, Mrs. Pazzi."

Laura could feel her heart pounding in her throat.

"The instructions were in tip top order, everything is as stated, but the money has not been released yet. It's still in escrow."

The weight of his words made her head spin. She didn't know what to say and the man simply waited. Anxiety churned within her belly. She inhaled deeply, then looked at the man.

"Thank you for your trouble."

She rose. The man stood as well and guided her. He opened the front door for her and greeted her politely. Laura crossed the street to the taxi. She saw the taxi driver coming, glancing at his watch. He'd better not comment on the waiting, he was being paid for that, she thought. If he would, she decided, she would not tip him. Being disgusted by his demeanor, Laura rushed and opened the back door herself, so she wouldn't have to sit next to him. She instructed him, even almost before he was behind the wheel, to go back to the airport.

.

It took some effort to keep her hands from trembling. The cigarette felt very good, it gave her the chance to think. A lot of memories and ideas were playing in her mind. She could not really control them. One thought lead to another. Memories evoked other memories. And one of the things she heard was the voice of Dr. Fell, also known as Dr. Lecter.

_"It's yours, Signora Pazzi. Your husband left it to you and it's waiting for you to claim it."_

Laura closed her eyes and couldn't wait to be back in Florence.

.

It was the first thing she did when she was back home again. She went over to her walk-in closet and turned on the lights. Decidedly, she moved a chair to the appropriate place and raised herself on it. She stretched out her arms and pried a box from the highest shelf. She stepped down again from the chair carefully.

She walked over to the new bed and put the box down on the mattress. Silently, she removed the lid from the box. Her hand went inside and grabbed the red envelope on top. Her cat jumped on the bed and butted her palm with its head. Laura gently patted the feline a few times with her free hand.

Holding the envelope with two hands, she studied it some time. The address was somewhere in the United States. She waited and considered, but then she opened the envelope and pulled out its contents and placed it on the bed. One letter, some papers and some copies from documents. She swiftly shifted through them and saw that the letter was the key to all. She picked it up, carefully unfolded it and started to read.

.

Laura took a final glance at her house and quickly walked outside. The envelope, now sealed, was burning in her hands. She felt like Bluebeard's wife after visiting the forbidden chamber. In her rage, she crossed the street without looking. It is said luck favors the prepared. But it has also been said that luck protects fools, small children and ships. Laura evidently was a fool at this moment, but luck had it that she wasn't hit by a car. They honked, but she didn't seem to notice them. She mailed the letter and exhaled. She had been holding her breath, apparently.

* * *

_* Luck favors the unprepared: Louis Pasteur  
* Luck protects fools, small children and ships (called Enterprise): William Riker_


	9. Chapter 9

_A word of thanks to Lou92, who has suggested some very nice possible plot developments.  
Unfortunately I did not consult her before, but I did manage to incorporate some of her ideas from this chapter on, though maybe in a way not immediately recognizable._

* * *

**Chapter 9**

The ups and downs of her adult life seemed largely dependent upon people or organizations from the United States. The ride with the FBI had been a roller-coaster and Laura had thought that things couldn't get any better or worse than that, but current events had rocked her old world and convictions. And she started to notice she was changing.

.

The morning sun bombarded the puddled streets with bright rays of light. It had rained the whole night, but the sky had cleared. The scattered reflections went everywhere, Laura needed her sunglasses now even more than on a straight summer day. The sudden brightness sometimes made her sneeze.

She bought some fruit at Principe di Firenze, then walked further with the sun in her face. She turned left, walked about 80 yards. Laura noticed a lot of women were out shopping today, many of them quite handsome. She turned right. Another 60 yards and again a right turn into the Via de' Tornabuoni. There, she paraded slowly along the magnificent shops. Hermes, Max Mara, delightful scents emerging from Profumeria Inglese, Prada, Bulgari. It was such a delight to be walking here. It was true: so many wonderful things to see and buy in Florence.

.

Laura continued her stroll around town. The marvelous weather treated her gently. She delighted in days like this. A rain-filled night followed by a not-too bright sun in a cloudless sky, accompanied by a soft breeze. She was glad it wasn't a regular summer day. Though the veil of warmth in summer surely has its charm, to Laura it was incomparable to the joy of life that the winds of spring and fall bring.

A few streets farther down were some coffee-houses. Laura studied the people on the terraces, just as people on terraces most often study the people passing by. See and be seen.

Then she saw Vittorio. He was sitting with his back to her, but it was unmistakably him. He was with some woman, having a coffee. She saw the waiter bringing the bill. And as she neared their little scene, Vittorio leaned over slightly to get his wallet, then he rose and patted his pockets. Laura could see the expression on the face of the woman and she saw the shock and surprise in her eyes. Laura knew instantly what Vittorio was doing. And it made her blood boil with anger. A dark sensation she had never felt before took hold of her, forcing her to think and act, changing her focus and sense of time. Laura was feeling like a predator as she inconspicuously approached them.

Her senses were working overtime. It was as if she was standing next to them already. Vittorio was searching the floor now, the woman was looking everywhere, her face was loaded with concern and anxiety. Laura was feeling sorry for her already, but she was fuming over Vittorio. An indecent sparkle shone in her eyes that had never been there before.

She had neared them enough to be able to hear them talking.

"Your wallet must have been stolen, Vittorio."

She saw him stop searching and she could see the expression on his face, even with his back to her. She remembered it only too well. He played his trick perfectly, she could feel the tension in the air. There was no way the woman couldn't feel it also, but she didn't say anything yet, she wasn't offering to pay for the coffee. Laura wondered for a moment if Vittorio was going to ask her to pay. But he was spared the _humiliation_. Laura saw the words coming, she could almost hear them before they were actually spoken.

"You know what, I'll pay for the coffee."

This was the time to strike.

.

"Hello Vittorio! What a coincidence that we meet at this moment, isn't it?"

Vittorio turned around, his face first wondering who was addressing him, then the full impact of this untimely meeting showed in his face. Laura registered this flaw in his behavior and knew she had him where she wanted him.

"No, no, dear, put away your purse. You won't need it. Yes, put it away," Laura spoke to the woman and smiled at her. She turned to Vittorio again.

"Well, Vittorio, if only I could say it's nice to meet you, but I'm sure you understand I can't. Sit down."

She motioned for the woman to get back in her chair with a smile and a nod. With her eyes open in amazement, she acquiesced. Vittorio was (to both Laura's relief and slight surprise) back in his chair in an instant also.

"I'll be joining you for only a moment, but long enough to save you from this moocher. I'd like to tell you a little story for that purpose. Something that happened to me some time ago."

Laura saw Vittorio move in his chair, she turned to him and looked at him furiously with her dark eyes. He avoided her gaze instantly and didn't stir anymore.

"A few months ago, I met a man. I was doing some shopping, he invited me for some coffee. We had met some time earlier and he had piqued my interest then. Well, I didn't mind a coffee, so we sat down somewhere and he ordered a cappuccino for me and an espresso for himself."

"I see you're still not sure what I'm doing or why I'm telling you this, am I right?" she said to the woman. "All will become clear in a moment, dear. By the way, what's your name?"

"Rachele," was the almost inaudible answer.

"That's a nice name. Well, Rachele, I'm giving Vittorio what is due to him. It's payback time for the trick he played me, for the trick he was playing on you right now, and for the tricks I'm sure he has played on many others. Anyway, he had invited me and ordered the coffee and we were having a cozy conversation. And when he was about to pay, he suddenly couldn't find his wallet. Does that sound familiar?"

"Sit down, Vittorio!" she snarled at the man, who had started to get agitated and was anxious to be elsewhere. She found she could play with him now, like a cat plays with a mouse.

"Now, dear," she continued in a gentle tone to Rachele, "we looked around, at the floor, I asked him if he had checked all of his pocket, he even got 'angry' with me, and when it was clear to me his wallet was really gone, I told him to stop searching and that I would pay for the coffee. I see you recognize the pattern now."

"Vittorio, I won't tell you again. Sit down or I'll start screaming."

"That's his pattern and his trick. I think he has many more tricks he plays with people."

.

Laura allowed a silence. She could see Rachele digesting what she had been told. She looked at Vittorio and her blazing eyes made him cower.

.

"It's such a shame I can't think of anything that would stop him from doing these things again in the future," Laura continued. "I wish I could. But for now, the show is over. Curtain's closed and the audience leaves, their money refunded. It was a miserable show. The company counts its losses."

Laura rose, but indicated with her hand to Vittorio that he must remain seated.

"Come, my dear Rachele, let's go. Vittorio will pay for the coffee, as he intended to when he invited you."

Rachele rose, still amazed at what has happened. Laura took her by the arm and comforted her by gently stroking her lower arm.

"Now, Rachele, don't look back, just keep on walking. He does not deserve your pity."

* * *

_* Principe di Firenze, in the Via del Sole (Street of the sun). The next street Laura takes is Via delle belle Donne (Street of the beautiful women).  
__* Rachele means sheep_


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

The witchy beauty of Muskrat Farm had only perished partially with the demise of Mason Verger. Being near the Susquehanna River in northern Maryland, in the middle of six square miles of national forest that remained unaffected year in year out, and with grand, well-groomed deep green lawns, it was impossible to completely shed the feeling of magic and mayhem.

The Stanford White-designed mansion should have been a buoy of safety within these woods and perhaps even the county. But the former owners and occupants of the building had done a marvelous job in achieving quite the opposite. Muskrat Farm was _Terra Incognita_ for the uninitiated, a blank on the map.

Some of those who did visit the mansion even called the place the earthen equivalent of Charybdis. It seemed to them the place sucked people in, taking the good spirit out off them, leaving them a worse person. There are only few who really feel they have gained something after visiting the place. And even less who actually have.

.

Callous footsteps from firm legs in riding boots sounded like the ticking of a Black Forest cuckoo clock. The broad-shouldered woman was walking with a brisk pace through the mansion, her pants whistled as she moved. Every sound she produced was very audible in these vast spaces, in spite of the Moroccan runners. She occupied more room than just her massive body.

She approached the vaulted hall that leads to Mason's wing. The sounds of workmen and work in progress greeted her in advance. She smiled when she saw the advancement they made.

The wing her late brother had occupied has been demolished almost completely now, it was the first thing she had decided upon as soon as circumstances allowed. Judy had loved the idea to restore the mansion back to its original state and to move there after the restoration. Margot managed all the Verger money now, no longer limited by Mason, and she did well with what she now had. She had cut some of the overhead cost that her brother had initiated, but kept those Verger-chairs and such intact that were to her advantage. With these adaptations, the funding of the restoration was no problem at all.

The men of the building contractor and the subcontractors were as busy as ants. It made her feel good to see them obliterating the lame wing. She stood and watched them work.

.

One of the workmen passed by. She could feel his stare before she saw him, she turned to look at him. He was muscular, his physical appearance shaped by his labor. Margot nodded as he walked by, the man didn't nod back but stared at her - he was still not used to seeing a woman more muscular than himself. He started to move some things, but he couldn't lift one sculptured stone alone. He straightened his back to see if one of the fellas could help him. Margot neared and without further ado, she lifted the stone.

"Where do you want it?" she asked.

It was amusing to see the man's face, but even her powers were limited so Margot had to ask again where he wanted the stone since he didn't answer.

"Eh.. there," he said and pointed.

"Move over," she commanded and carried the stone to the place indicated.

"Thanks," the man muttered ashamed as Margot walked away, excited by the brief exercise.

.

At the barn, Margot met Judy, who was busy in the kitchen preparing lunch.

"Hey, ready in a minute. Sit down!" Judy called.

Margot brushed Judy's copious brown hair so gently as she walked by that Judy didn't even notice it. She sat down and waited.

"I made you a club sandwich, with toast in the middle, like in that restaurant on the waterfront in Baltimore last week."

"That's nice," said Margot and smiled at Judy who had turned to look at her.

"I reaaally liked it and thought I'd give it a try myself," said Judy and turned back to her task at the kitchen counter.

Margot looked at her while she was busy. Judy bore her pregnancy better than Margot had thought she would. Judy still walked without too much trouble, in spite of the extra weight she carried and her bowleggedness. And the extra inches she had to reach for the kitchen counter because of her swollen belly seemed not to hinder her at all in her activities, which only pleased Margot more.

"Here they are!" said Judy carrying two plates to the kitchen table. She walked back for two mugs of oolong tea. They enjoyed their lunch in silence. Judy took Margot's hand into hers for a moment and smiled with pride and joy.

.

Margot was lost in thoughts on how things had turned out for them. Well, in the beginning she was sure she'd be fucked forever with Daddy pissed at her and her brother next-in-line for the money. It had been a terrible time. Margot recalled the scene they had when she introduced Judy to him. It still embarrassed her to hear Daddy yelling and calling Judy "that dago cunt."

Then, after four years, Daddy died most conveniently. And Mason, he needed her almost as much as she needed him. The leash was still there, but the new situation had given her some slack. So, when Mason died, Dr. Lecter boasted of having killed him and Judy got pregnant, things took a turn for the better.

.

"Heeey, Margot, come here!" Judy called.

Margot walked over. Judy put Margot's hand on her belly.

"Do you feel it? He's kicking!" she said with pride.

"I feel it," Margot beamed.

"Isn't that just the most impressive thing you've ever felt?"

"It is."

"It's going to be a strong boy, I guess."

Margot looked at Judy and nodded. Yeah, things had turned for the best. But there was one loose end that had exposed itself today...

"I'm sorry to tell you, but I need to go to Florence, there's some business I have to take care of there."

"Aww, really?" Judy pouted. "Can't you have someone else take care of it?"

"No, it's something I have to do myself. I'll be back real soon. As soon as I can, I promise."

"I think you're starting to like the pig-business, right?"

Margot never told Judy she had hired some excellent managers to take care of the business for her. She had never cared for the business. Damn beasts. Smelly, dirty. She looked at Judy, still holding her belly, feeling the baby kicking.

"Yeah," she said.

"Well, if it's your job to take care of this, then you have to gooo," Judy said. She smiled at Margot, but it was a slightly sad smile. Luckily, Margot had told her she'd be back as soon as possible.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

On an afternoon on a rather nice Indian summer day, Laura had finished showering and was applying some orange blossom body lotion when she heard the footsteps outside her door. A firm knock.

Laura tried to comb her hair into shape with her fingers while walking over to the door. She looked through the peephole. She saw an unknown woman that looked like a bodybuilder. Somewhat apprehensive, Laura opened the door partially.

"Hi," said the woman with a hoarse and low voice. "I'm Margot Verger."

Laura could feel her cat brushing by her bare feet to get out of the house while she quickly deliberated what to do. She saw she was being appraised by the woman. She asked Laura if she could come in before Laura had thought of asking her in.

Laura glanced behind her. Callista would have to leave, she would ask her to exit by the back door. Laura looked back at Laura and assented. After fully opening the door, she moved aside to let her in and preceded her to the living room. She motioned for the couch.

"Take a seat and please wait. I'll be back in a minute."

.

Margot walked over to the couch and sat down in the middle. The couch protested softly. Margot placed her big purse on her left and a small satchel on her right and watched Laura walk out of the room.

While waiting for her to return, she inspected the room. It was quite decent, clad rather in taste than wealth. She liked the way the sun lit and brightened the room through the funny small windows.

She noticed some clothing on the floor, out of place in the otherwise proper room. At further inspection, she saw it was _two_ tank tops.

After looking around the room, she focused back on the business at hand. It was impossible to get the money in Geneva back. That was for sure. It was impossible, even without considering the letter that Laura had mailed Mason.

Margot was very surprised finding out Mason had not thought of the possibility that Pazzi would grant alternative signature power to someone. And because it had taken Laura so many months before she went after the money, Mason had not lived to learn about Pazzi's trick. It had been the letter that had lead Margot to the three million dollars lost in escrow in Geneva.

Then Margot heard some soft noises from where Laura was and some even softer voices. Instantly alert, her muscles bunched. Someone walking about, then a door closing. Silence followed. Full focus. Laura entered the room again and sat down in a chair facing Margot from the other side of the coffee table.

"I had a friend over, we're alone now," said Laura and managed to suppress a blush.

Margot frowned again, then understood and smiled. The extra alertness softly fell off her shoulders. Laura seemed very natural and level-headed.

It had taken Margot many restless hours at home thinking about the sudden claimer of the money. She had someone trustworthy do some research and when it turned out the claimer was Pazzi's widow, Margot was less troubled. Yet, it would be foolish to act on that fact. She had deliberated some more and decided she wanted to see this woman. It was a risk, but she had a gut feeling it was the right thing to do.

Laura somehow reminded her of Judy; their shared ancestry showed in their dark eyes and voluptuous brown hair. And they shared a certain stately carriage. But this was no time for pleasure, business had to be done. _Now_.

"Mason Verger is dead," she said.

.

Doctor Lecter had already written her that, so it was no surprise to Laura. But apparently, Margot believed it would shock her, she was trying to mentally unbalance her. Seeing Margot, she knew that talking or responding would be giving in, would show Margot the cards in her hand, her state of mind.

.

Margot waited, but Laura did not respond or react beyond a certain spark in her eyes. She had not anticipated that. She thought it best to just go on.

"I, being his sister, am responsible for his business now. _All_ of his business."

Margot checked Laura's eyes to see if she understood.

After a short, dry cough, Margot continued.

"Tell me, why did you mail my brother the letter?"

.

Laura knew lying would be foolish, but she restricted her motivation to logic. How she found the letter. That here were two things that could happen with the money: remain in the safe in Geneva until Kingdom Come, only profitable to the Crédit Suisse, or be released for Laura to use and enjoy. She told about her visit to Geneva, the found situation and the letter Rinaldo had prepared.

.

Margot sighed and leaned back in the couch, her hands still on her purse and satchel. Laura was frank, that was sure. And straightforward. But something was left unsaid. It did not take her long to understand what it was; it was precisely what she had come for.

"But why did you post it _only now_? Why not sooner?"

.

Margot hit exactly the sore spot, the side of the story Laura had been reluctant to tell.

"I did not think I needed the money."

Margot's bright blue butcher's eyes remained fixed on hers. Margot didn't speak and Laura started to think she might have made a mistake there. The silence that floated in the air was starting to suffocate her, but she decided she would not take back her words or pose, so she waited for Margot to be the first to speak again. She kept up under Margot's stare. Then, after seconds that had appeared as hours and Laura's heart had felt like a racing horse galloping, Margot spoke again.

"Half the truth is a lie. But I'll give you a last chance. Why not sooner?"

This was it, Laura thought. She had bluffed and now Margot had called.

"The man that Rinaldo had tried to sell to your brother wrote me a letter. He suggested I use the money."

.

Margot's heart might have missed a beat there and then.  
So Doctor Hannibal Lecter wrote Laura and suggested she should go for the money, she thought. The money that would have been paid for his death. He suggested to that corrupt cop's widow she should collect the cash meant for his corpse. Why would he have done that? For fun? To mock? Even if he knew Mason was dead?

"Did you ever meet the man?"

.

Laura remembered that moment only too well. In fact, it was one of her dearest memories. And after reading Dr. Lecter's letter, she believed he had read her mind when he had kissed her hand that night.

_Being treated gallantly is something completely different than being praised for beauty_.

That's what he had written her. And it was true, every word of it. And _he_ had been gallant. He had not given her horny hog's, but admiring owl's eyes.

"Yes, once."

Margot did not ask, but Laura knew she wanted to hear more.

"He was very gentle. It was very hard to believe he is actually a mass murderer. "

Margot nodded slightly.

"He was very courteous and gave me an antique score on parchment so I could compare it with the modern score. I still have it," she said with a slight blush. But she quickly recovered and continued her story.

"Then Rinaldo made an appointment with him to retrieve it, Doctor Lecter complimented me on my perfume and took his leave."

"So, what was in the letter?" Margot asked.

"He sees you and he knows you. Do you understand what I mean?"

Margot did not nod in agreement, but her eyes implored Laura to continue.

"He wrote me it would not be a sin if I would ask for the money. It was in escrow, your brother was dead, and even if he was still alive he could not have retrieved the money. It was being useless for everybody but the banker. He convinced me it would be okay if I would collect it."

.

"Did you know it was Doctor Lecter that killed my brother?" Margot asked in another attempt to destabilize Laura. She immediately registered she had scored this time.

.

All sorts of possible implications and questions welled up in Laura's mind, crawling over each other, screaming for attention.

Why did he kill Margot's brother?

Why did he write the letter if he had killed him himself? Surely not just to grant Laura the money - but why then?

And also very important: if Doctor Lecter killed her brother, how did Margot feel about her inquiries about the money, knowing he had suggested that to her?

The danger of her situation hit her then full force. Playtime was over. Definitely.

What was Margot going to do now?

.

Perhaps Laura's distress even pleased Margot. She could see the stress taking hold of her.

Laura had made a very strong impression on her. She was no fool, but new to the business.

Margot's eyes left Laura alone and took another look at the living room. She really liked what Laura had done with the place; clad rather in taste than wealth, as she had thought before. Surely good enough to live, but it was so small compared to her own home.

And now, with the mansion being restored, and Judy pregnant, Margot had all she ever wished for. She was happy. The letter Laura had sent had been a serious threat. But now that she had seen Laura, she knew this loose end could easily be secured.

.

Laura saw Margot's hand dive into the satchel. It disturbed her very much, since Margot had been very quiet for some time. What was she doing?

.

Margot pulled back her hand and looked at the cell phone she held now. She punched up Geneva and spoke briefly into it. Then she handed the phone to Laura.

.

Still somewhat shocked, Laura took the cell phone and listened. A man on the other side asked if she could hear him.

"Yes."

Then the man told her the money had been released and would be wire transferred immediately, as agreed, to the bank specified by her late husband. Then he thanked her and ended the phone call.

.

Margot could hear by the sound of the phone and see from Laura's face it was done. She held out her hand, Laura returned the cell phone.

"Use it wisely. It is a lot of money, but it is finite."

Laura nodded.

"Have you considered leaving Italy?"

Laura nodded after a slight hesitation.

"Thank you," she spoke softly.

Margot looked at the woman and smiled.

"You're welcome."

Margot rose. Laura followed suit, then walked her to the door. There, Margot turned for a last time.

" I suppose not, but should you ever meet our mutual fiendish friend again, be sure to thank him for me. He'll understand," and with that, she opened the door and stepped out.

.

Laura closed the door, turned and leaned her back against it. Slowly, she slid down the door until she sat on the floor. She cried a few tears and laughed quaintly.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Some people think winter isn't the best time of year to be visiting Paris. Sure, the City of Lights is illuminated to such a degree that only on rare occasions one remembers it's a dreary December evening, but the fake happiness must surely be unacceptable, even to tourists.

If you're local, or residing there for the time being, the cold and bleak sky of December is never a treat. Neither are the snow and rain filled streets. Even the Eiffel Tower holds little attraction when a fierce wind blows the rain into your face in spite of your fur-lined hood and the low clouds obscure your panorama from Trocadéro. Yet, as the city may lack the merits of summer, the people and the possibilities may prove to be sufficient substitutes for those who have the time, money and eyes to see. When you're seated in the Restaurant Jules Verne on a quiet and calm evening, with snow covered streets down below and a dark blue sky above, a majestic view on the Pont d'Iéna over the Seine with the Palais de Chaillot on the Rive Droite, you just might feel a sense of being in the right place at the right time. Laura was experiencing that bliss.

.

The waitress approached her table, smiling the same sweet smile she had been giving Laura all evening.  
"The chef offers you a glass of this wine, a Sauternes, Château Lafaurie-Peyraguey."

Laura did not want to browse the restaurant for the chef, that would look very silly. She'd relay her answer through this delightful woman. With a fluent motion of her hand, she accepted the offer and begged the waitress to proceed. The woman's skillfulness showed in the speed and ease with which the cork was drawn from the bottle. Laura gently touched the waitress's forearm when she had finished pouring the glass.

"Thank you. Having you serve me has been a _pleasure_. Will you express my gratitude to the chef?"

A beat of lovable silence before she nodded and then walked away.

After a few seconds, Laura turned her attention back to her table. Looking at the empty plate in front of her, her mind wandered off to a memory from not too long ago.

.

_"We've changed, Laura. I mean, you've changed," said Callista as she emptied her glass of wine and put it back on the table perhaps a bit too __unbalanced._

_She looked at Laura over the table. But Laura kept her face straight. She could see Callista reaching a conclusion after some time. Good. She knew Callista had invited her for this dinner in one of their favorite restaurants with a reason. She wanted to find out what was happening to them. Laura thought Callista probably already knew that, but just hadn't accepted it yet as really happening. Denial. But if Laura wanted things to go as planned, Callista would have to come to the inevitable conclusion herself: their relationship was over. So she kept her face blank and spoke not. So, after an unavoidable span of time, Callista spoke again herself._

_"I had hoped this evening would entice you to open up again, Laura. I feel like I'm losing you and I don't know why or what I can do about it.__ What's going on?"_

_"There's nothing I can tell you__."_

_"Don't you love me anymore?" asked Callista, with emphasis on every word. Seconds of shameless silence from Laura, more than Callista needed._

_"Have you ever loved me, Laura?"_

_Laura could have told Callista there and then the exact moment she had decided their relationship would have to come to an end, but how could she?_

.

As she walked about the house that awful morning, everything was still bright and gay. Yesterday, her Cayman Islands Bank had confirmed the money had been transferred to her account. That night, the party at her godfather's had been very exuberant (and late!). This morning, the sun woke her with its resolute rays.

Laura had left Callista in bed fast asleep, and went to the kitchen for a bit of juice. Sitting at the kitchen table she leafed through yesterday's mail. Not much of interest there. Through the kitchen window she heard some birds quarreling, but she could not see them when she tried to. A beautiful day is what she saw. Nice and calm, which was exactly what she wanted today. Maybe do some shopping this afternoon. She put her glass in the sink and returned to the bedroom.

Callista was up and in the walk-in closet standing on a chair, looking for something. Laura's heart jumped with fright thinking she might find the box. As she raced towards Callista, she fully realized the true meaning of her fright: _she would never confide in her_.

Laura almost yelled at Callista to get down. Callista turned to face Laura, shocked by the harsh words and angry look on Laura's face.

"What's the matter?"

"There's nothing there that might be of any interest to you, and you know that."

"I was just curious, Laura. No need to be angry."

Looking at Laura, who did not answer, Callista saw the ice. She left Laura's house not much later, after a silent disagreement, leaving Laura at the kitchen table with a good mug of coffee in front of her.

.

_Laura remained silent after Callista's question. Had she ever loved her? In love, at least, she had to admit to herself. Any further thoughts now were futile, she knew._

_The silence was intolerable and enough for Callista. She understood so she rose and silently left Laura._

_Laura took her glass of wine and rewarded herself with a good sip. The breakup had not been as hard as she had anticipated._

.

Laura asked for the bill as soon as she had finished the last sip of the wonderful wine. It was time to go. The appointment was in half an hour. Enough time to walk the short distance. No need for a taxi, even with the snow, with her new Gucci boots.

The waitress approached her table, a small tray in her hand. With a sincere word of thanks for her visit and expressing the hope of another visit, she put the bill on the table and took a step back. Laura told her she'd not use a card, the waitress nodded and fell back to an even more discrete distance.

Laura picked up the bill and smiled as she opened when she saw the telephone number written inside. With a short glance and smile at the waitress, who was eying her nevertheless, she got her purse and paid for the duck and all, including a nice tip. The bill went inside her purse, of course.

Laura rose, the waitress went with her to the door and helped her in her coat.

"We'll meet again," Laura said.

"La vie en Rose," the waitress replied and they both laughed softly. Paris appeared to be fertile ground.

Laura took the elevator down. Heading north-west, she walked off into her new life as graceful as a leopard.

_Finis_

* * *

_Without further ado, the acknowledgements:_

_Duffie83 - you've been very, very helpful. Thank you for proofreading and commenting and getting my writing skills on a higher level._  
_Lou92 - such a fantasy and imagination; you really should use your talent a better way than merely helping me with it ('A dead doctor'?)._  
_Demeter1973 - I've only asked you a handful of things in advance, but your answers to those questions and your reviews were truly very helpful._

_Everybody else for reading and/or reviewing._

_There's a plot bunny hidden in the magic hat on my fiction(al) table, I'm sure I'll be able to bring it out someday soon..._


End file.
